


The Prettiest Sight to See

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: A seemingly lonely Toledo Christmas brightens right up.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Kudos: 7





	The Prettiest Sight to See

Though given to strong-running emotions, former Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger wasn’t the sort of young man to walk around slump-shouldered, feeling sorry for himself. 

Back in Toledo with snow softening the edges of the buildings and the impending holidays softening everyone’s expression, making strangers tender and solicitous as they sought to live out the example of the savior whose birth they were celebrating, Maxwell was grateful. There had been times when he had been more than certain that he’d never see his home again. A chill wended through him as images rose in his mind: a patient holding a bomb, sniper fire, exchanging himself for Charles who was being held hostage...  _ Charles _ ... 

A stranger patted him on the back. “Better tighten up that scarf, bub. You’re shivering.” 

Klinger gave a little laugh and thanked him and moved along. He  _ should _ get out of the cold, the falling snow that was due, tonight, to become a blizzard. But going inside, away from glittering shop displays that couldn’t offer him the one thing he ached for, meant confronting truths that were proving a struggle. 

The world hadn’t stayed still while he was away. His cousins were engaged, set to start families of their own. His mom and the rest had been offered the opportunity to move out West to help Aunt Ghashmira with her bed and breakfast. They were there now, learning the ins and outs of the place, celebrating. He had promised to join them, but then the snow had come. The truth was that he really didn’t mind. He didn’t feel very festive - just lost - and he didn’t want to drag anyone down. 

Toledo, too, had changed. His favorite neighborhoods had either gone downhill- broken storefronts, drugs - or become a type of fast and fancy he didn’t recognize and couldn’t afford. And if Toledo didn’t feel like home, what did that leave? There were wiser, older men he hoped to ask for advice- Colonel Potter, Father Mulcahy - but he intended to let them enjoy their holiday, to phone after the new year. 

Boots cold with slush and melting snow, he climbed the stairs to his little apartment. Even this was strange. When he had shipped out, he had still lived at home, but, upon returning, he had found that he needed a place to lick his wounds out of sight - like a cat that holes up to suffer silently. He thought about his job - removing baked goods from great, industrial ovens and packaging them for sale - and gave a rueful smile for the owners, who had given their employees three days of leave for the holidays. Max would rather be working; motion and labor would keep him distracted. Keep him from thinking.

_ Keep me from missing you.  _

He sat down on his bed, snowflakes melting in his hair and on his coat, and remembered how it had been to walk into the Swamp on that Christmas Eve. It felt like a hundred years ago, now. He’d been a different man. He remembered how quickly Charles had closed the tintype album - as if missing his little sister on Christmas Eve was a crime! 

But maybe that wasn’t it at all, Klinger reflected.  _ Maybe he didn’t want me to see because I wasn’t good enough for her.  _

He still wasn’t. 

Certainly, he wasn’t good enough for Charles. 

If he was honest with himself, he had never expected to be, not really. But there had been a time when he had really tried. He’d taken a vocabulary course over in Korea and followed it up back home by reading books he knew the Major enjoyed. He’d attended lectures on classical music, yawning through the next day because his shift began at 4 AM. But no transformation he wrought in himself made him brave enough to try to call or write - to ask Charles if there had ever been a moment over there when he’d considered him a friend. 

Max pulled open the drawer of his nightstand to look at a little notepad there - a number he’d looked up and stored away. Surely he could call and wish the man Merry Christmas, right? Charles couldn’t mind  _ that _ . But he thought of the call ending and Charles turning back to his fancy guests with a laugh about a “Levantine transvestite - from Toledo! Can you imagine!?” and he couldn’t make his fingers pick up the phone. 

The wind had really begun to find its voice, supplemented by wild currents of cold air bred above the Great Lakes, when the doorbell rang. Klinger was so confused that he kept still a moment, running through possibilities. His family was traveling. His friends had somehow gone to Laverne in the divorce. (He cringed, hoped it wasn’t Laverne feeling sorry for him or, worse, discovering that marriage to Gus Naghy wasn’t all she’d imagined - even if the guy did literally bring home the bacon. If Max never saw her again, it wouldn’t be too soon for his ego.) 

When the bell rang again - impatiently, somehow, this time - he hurried to the door with apologies on his lips, only to be almost trampled. “Deliveries!” declared a heavy accent that Max recognized as Hungarian- and he felt a pang for a man working Christmas Eve to ensure his kids had plenty of good stuff under the tree, probably. 

“Here,” he said, grabbing a muscled arm. “I got no clue what all this is, but you gotta let me tip you at least. You sure this is the right place?” 

The man’s eyes shined. “This Wheeling Street. You Maxwell Q. Klinger. And I already got big, big tip. Merry Christmas for the little woman, huh? Buy her nice new stove she’s wanting - and necklace, too.”

Klinger smiled at his evident happiness and love - and let his little dining area be consumed by packages.  _ Ghost of Christmas Presents _ ? he wondered when the man had gone, leaving, Max swore, the Christmas-tree smell of pine and bayberry. 

Searching for some clue as to who had played Santa - not his family, surely! - Max found himself the recipient of a Christmas feast: turkey croquettes, hot crusty rolls, parsley potatoes, sweet potatoes, fancy baked beans, baklava. 

But there was no note. 

It all felt a bit like living inside a fairytale, an idea reinforced when the power went out - necessitating the use of candles - and another delivery came. 

They were lovely - soft fur and Christmas collars - and Max fed them milk and turkey, his surprise Christmas kittens, until they curled up in front of the radiator, full and cozy. Whoever had sent them had been thoughtful enough to include the accessories required by kittens - food dish, litter pan - but there was no note this time, either. And who in the hell knew he wanted kittens!?! Max could think of no one. 

_ Have I been that much of a Scrooge this year _ ? he wondered.  _ That the whole universe has gotta try ta turn me around?  _

He shivered then - not at the idea of ghosts, but at this un-earned bounty - and because he was still dressed in clothing that had known too much snow. He was about to change when the doorbell rang again - a low, sonorous sound that had the kittens alert. 

“Probably the Christmas hippopotamus,” Max joked before picking up a candlestick like a governess in a Gothic romance and preparing to see the Ghost of Christmas Future. 

A ghost or a hippo would have startled the young man far less than to open the door and find Charles Emerson Winchester III on the mat, well-dressed, with a poinsettia in his buttonhole. 

“Major!?”

“Not any longer. Why are you in the dark, my dear?”

“Power lines are iced over. Why are you  _ here _ ?” Max motioned him inside, taking a coat so fine he worried about hanging it in his paltry closet. 

“Almost three years ago, you redeemed a rather horrible Christmas Eve for me.” 

It was no easy thing - to look at the tall and lovely form of the Major in flickering light. “You don’t owe me, sir.” 

Charles ignored this. “You are all wet.” He reached out to touch his damp hair. “And cold.” 

“I was walking, earlier,” Max explained, feeling silly. 

Charles took charge, then, though he had never been to Ohio before, never mind Max’s shoebox dwelling. With a fond pat to the fuzz balls, he hustled his damp, cold friend to the bathroom. Even with the power out, there ought to be warm water in the pipes - at least enough to chase the blue coloring from his friend’s face. 

Max was so taken aback by his presence that he let Charles turn the bath on before he registered the sheer strangeness of the situation and crossed his arms over his chest. 

Charles laughed. “My dear, not only am I a doctor, I have performed your physical before.”

This was true - but Max had never enjoyed the process. And what was Charles going to do? 

The answer turned out to be: get Maxwell out of his sodden clothing, urge him into the warm water - and wash his hair. Maxwell shivered in the hot water - but it was less from the contrast of the heat against his cold skin than it was at the feel of Charles lathering shampoo into his hair - in a suit! A good suit! 

“M-Major what is this?”

“Christmas. You stay warm and I will find you something to wear.” 

He returned with a cozy mulberry sweater dress with silver buckles down the front and a black belt. Max hoped Charles had chosen it not based on proximity, but because, maybe, he liked to see him in dresses. He’d never hassled him about them, anyway, and had occasionally complimented his stitching. He wriggled into the softness as Charles toweled out his hair, finishing the look with the poinsettia. 

Then Charles led him to the couch and bundled in with him as if they’d sat in just such a way a thousand times before. “How did you do all this?” What Max meant was why - but that answer had the potential to be frightening. 

“I, ah, I had some help. I spoke with your mother.”

“Major, you  _ can’t _ speak with my ma. She doesn’t speak English.” 

“No, but I speak French.”  _ And a little Arabic now, too _ . It had been completely worth the time it had taken him to find someone, using his Harvard connections, to teach him, then engaging in subterfuge regarding the lessons so as to keep both himself and Maxwell safe. He suspected he’d asked badly, but he had gotten the answer he wished for; Farrida Klinger had given her blessing for him to court her pretty son. Charles had felt real pride, too, when he had reassured her that between his wealth and his skills as a physician, Maxwell would be well cared for and would want for nothing. 

“And she told ya I was gonna go hungry, huh?” He raised a teasing eyebrow. 

“She said you would be alone on Christmas Eve, eating some ghastly delicatessen take-out meal. She said you have always wanted Christmas cats and that she was never able to give them to you as a boy. And she said you might allow me the privilege of kissing you if I asked nicely.” He produced then, as if from thin air, a fascinator of mistletoe - dark leaves and white berries. “Ravishing,” he pronounced once it was fastened in Max’s hair. “So?” 

“So?”

“May I kiss you, my dear girl? I did come all this way.” 

“Why?”

“Because you are made for kissing and have gone, I suspect, too long without anyone being sweet to you.” 

“Not  _ that _ why! Why did you leave your sister and Boston to come here?” 

“Because I found I could not enjoy the holiday. It took me a while to realize why, but the truth is that I wanted to be with you. I- I want you with me for all holidays, Max. All days. If you wish it?” 

“Major?”

“I think you have to call me by name for this, Maxwell. Will you be mine? And - and let me kiss you?” 

Max lifted his face up so that his lips could be kissed and claimed. The gesture - thorough and tender from the Major’s fine, pink mouth - left him breathing hard against that broad chest. “Is this - this is really happening, Major?”

“Charles,” the Major corrected gently. “And yes. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve just dreamed it a lot, is all. I don’t wanna wake up and you’re gone again.” 

“I will go nowhere unless you bid me,” Charles promised, hoping he would please him well enough to earn the right to stay. “But, my darling, if you desired this -desired us, why did you never speak?”

“I didn’t think you could ever want me back. You musta known how I felt, to do all this.” 

“I  _ hoped _ ,” the Major corrected, “as any man in love must do, I suppose. But you are too young and too lovely for me, my darling, so I feared, too.”

“Until you talked to my mom.”

“That did help. But, Max, you could do better. Because I love you, I owe you that.”

“What happened to being a Winchester?” 

“I do not want titles with you or family crests. I just want to be myself. Loved for myself.” 

“Charles.” 

It made the taller man shiver and Max knew, then, how alike they were. Charles had been desired for his wealth or his talent - but rarely for himself - just as no one desired all of him, the masculine parts as well as the feminine. Trying to be braver than he felt, Max traced down the Major’s jaw, lured his face into his hand. He drew him closer slowly, kissed him welcome, sucking at his bottom lip until it plumped. 

“My dear... if you continue in this manner, I am going to wish to lavish other gifts on you.” 

“It’s your turn, I think. What can I do for you, Charles? I don’t know that much, but if you tell me, I’ll do my best.” 

“Maxwell, I have wanted you for so long that I think you could do very little indeed and still quite undo me.” 

“Mmm. Let’s find out, huh? Always wanted ta see you all unbuttoned. Here, stand up a sec.” He folded the couch out and covered it with blankets. “It’s not great - but better than an army cot, probably.” 

“It has  _ you _ , Max. That is more than enough for me.” 

“Lay back, then. I gotcha.” 

Charles gave himself over to gentle hands and a questing mouth - but what he liked best were the pleased little sounds Max made as he found his way beneath his clothes. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, kissing down the line of hair that bisected Charles’ belly before disappearing beneath his waistband. 

The former Major had never felt anything of the sort, but the pleasure Max was giving him was undeniable. “I am yours, at least.” 

“You don’t think you’re perfect, shirt open like this?” He sucked at the skin under one nipple, marking it. “You can’t feel it? How much you’ve got me wanting you?” 

Charles felt many things. The heat of that mouth. An ache between his legs. The strain of holding back after being left untouched for too long. “Max...” 

“Mmm.” Maxwell nuzzled at his still-clothed thighs. “You say my name just right. Make it sound special. You’d get me so hot, sometimes, calling for me ta get you a jeep or call Boston or whatever. You had me on my knees all the time, Major baby.”

“You should, ah, have, oh my  _ dear _ , have invited me along.” 

“Let’s call it a standing invitation from now on.” He squeezed through his trousers, indicated he should lift his hips if he wanted them removed. “Oh, look at that, baby... look at you.” He bent down to tease with his warm tongue. “You’re tall enough to put a star on top, sugar plum, and I wouldn’t mind openin’ all my gifts right here.” 

“Maxwell! Do not make me laugh, you ridiculous creature!!” 

Instead, he made him moan, inviting him into his mouth. He looked up with dark eyes, asking for reassurance, and Charles threaded his fingers in his dark hair. “Darling... oh... Max...”

Strong fingers dug into his thigh, holding him open, and Maxwell responded to the way he writhed - granting more, moving faster, praising him with the sweet, frantic motions of his body. Even his feet were moving, Charles saw with delight; he was in this completely, wanted him - wanted Charles - absolutely. Raising himself up to catch his breath, he nuzzled against Charles’ stomach, his thighs. “I love you, Major baby.” Then he looked up, worried. “ ‘s that okay to say already?” 

_ You were saying it long before now - with your pretty eyes.  _ “Your touch said it for you, beloved. I-oh, pet,  _ right _ there, please, if you would - and I, ah, I love you, too.”

“Say that again.” 

“I love you, Maxwell.” He grinned. “My dear - are you scheming in this? With me? Bartering your touch?” 

“If I was doin’ tha, I’d try ta get you to beg. Your voice, Major…”

Winchesters did not beg as a rule - but rules were made to be broken, were they not? “Please, pet, finish me.”

Max did not lose the delicate rhythm he was creating with his touch, but he whined at this request - which led Charles to draw him over his lap. “Easy,” the Major soothed, reaching beneath the folds of his dress, feeling his way. 

“You don’t have to,” Max told him, trying to keep his hips from snapping forward, but Charles smiled at him with dark eyes and moved aside the lacey trappings that separated them. Klinger thought that it could not possibly be comfortable, the way he had angled himself beneath the lace. But the Major made a pleased sound as he aligned them, pressed to the warmth of him, and the rhythm was then his to dictate. Max clung to him - helpless as tremors ran through the lowest parts of him - hair falling into his eyes as he hung his head. 

Charles kissed his brow - praised him for his beauty - and held him tight as he strove not to fall apart in his arms - not yet. 

“Let go,” Max urged him, lips warm on his throat. Then, “You’re so pretty like this, Charles. So close but holding back. Shaking for me.” 

Charles thought he could stay shuddering for days on so sweet a precipice, but he hadn’t counted on Max’s fingers reaching down to caress him. The softness of the touch was perfect - as if Max knew that he needed  _ adored _ as much as he needed urged - and he practically sobbed the younger man’s name as he slipped over the edge. Max stroked his back and his hair as he returned to himself, blinking stars from his eyes. 

“Pet, ah, am I merely, ah, yet dazzled by you or did the lights come back on?” 

“They seem to’ve. All that Winchester stuff  _ must  _ be true if you can power the whole city of Toledo, Major!”

Abashed and elated, Charles laughed into his shoulder. “I think  _ you  _ must take the credit, dear girl. I had, ah, intended you to, ah,”

“I musta done okay if I got you losing your words like that. Come on. I wanna see you in my bed, huh?” They turned the radiator up and closed the door against kitten raiders. Then Max shucked his clothing in a fluid motion and burrowed beneath the covers. 

“Giving me something to unwrap, darling?” 

Max shivered. “How can you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you mean it. Like you’ve always meant it.” He let the word trip slowly, feelingly, from his tongue. “Darling.” He had never been anyone’s darling before. 

Charles looked at him in shock. “My dear, I  _ do _ mean it. I contacted your family to ask for their  _ blessing _ . And I meant it… Maxwell, over there, every time I spoke your name. How can I chase these doubts from you?”

“Just… it’s just a lot, Major. Like a Christmas story that might all be gone when I wake up. I don’t get what I did to deserve it - baby cats and food and  _ you _ \- and I know it cost a fortune and I dunno how to repay you…” 

“No repayment is required. I love you, Max. How could I wish to do less than make you happy?”

“And you’ll stay? All night? I know it’s not nice here, but I can cook,”

Charles kissed him quiet. “Pet, please. You are quite breaking my heart. I am yours for this Christmas season and you shall be mine, hereafter.”

“In Boston?”

“In my home. My bed. My life. Yes.” He kissed his nose. “Please stop worrying, beloved. We survived Korea. We can make this work. You may go to school or design dresses or simply be the delight I return to at day’s end- I promised your family I would take the most exquisite care of you, and I will.” 

“I want to take care of you back. Be good for you. Contribute.”

“If that is your wish, I shall help you in every way I can. Do you believe me, now, Max?” 

“Yeah. I just wish I had known before.”

“I am sorry. Between the army and my family, I feared what might become of us… but I tried doing without you and I cannot. Now, might I kiss you again?” 

He did and the lights fled away again, making them laugh, leaving Max clinging to him, peremptorily breathless, as Charles learned how to touch him exactly right, to guide him to the edge and kiss him as he let himself fall. 

Eyes squeezed closed, Max held on to the sensations Charles had created in him. Laughing, Charles continued to kiss him until his muscles unclenched and he sighed, soft in his arms. Then he bundled him up and placed his kittens with him so they could romp in the covers and rewrote the history they had shared by telling Max how much he had adored him in his fashionable creations, how much he had enjoyed sparring with him, playing with him. 

Eyes wide, Max held tight to the miracle of him, stroking what skin he could reach to assure himself that Winchester was real and with him. Watching the snow fall outside the window, the Major said, “We shall be quite snowed in tomorrow.” 

“Good. I’ll feed you Christmas cookies in bed for breakfast.”

“Darling! Cookies are not breakfast!”

“On Christmas they are,” Max defended himself. “And then we can hide all day. Maybe you’d read to me?” 

“I shall do most anything you like, my dear.”

“Then we gotta call my family and Honoria and the Colonel and tell ‘em all Merry Christmas. Then I’ll make soup and grilled cheese and it’ll be the best Christmas anybody ever had.” 

Charles hummed a bit of a carol. Certainly, the prettiest sight to see - on Christmas and all days thereafter - was going to be the lovely man in his arms. He was not entirely convinced that he deserved such loveliness, but he looked forward to spending a lifetime earning and cherishing it. As if he could hear his thoughts, Max turned in his arms to kiss him. “I’ll always take good care of you, Charles.”

“Maxwell, your very touch tells me I am in for a most wonderful life, indeed. I will wake up every morning as excited as if for Christmas - because I will get to see you.” 

Outside, the city was buried, hour by hour, in cold white glitter. They slept warm in each other’s arms, awakening once in awhile to kiss sleepily before returning to dreams that were all of the life they would build in the coming months.

End! 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
